


Talon's Wings.

by Rahn (Rahndom)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Court of Owls AU, DARK AS HELL, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/pseuds/Rahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Grayson is abducted after his parents' tragic demise. He is forced into this void with nothing to see, nothing to feel. They want to break  him, they want to train him, the want to destroy him. </p><p>They would have succeeded if his savior, his little angel, wasn't there to protect him from the void.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year One - White.

**YEAR ONE - WHITE.**

The camber was white, white and cold and pristine and sterile.

White like the clouds and the light of the sun in the summer.

White like everything he had ever imagined to be clean and pure.

White white white white…

How long had he been in the chamber already? Days? Weeks?

Years?

He wished he knew yet, he knew he couldn’t.

The white swallowed everything.

It swallowed time and feeling and smell and sight.

Only white remained in its merciless deprivation.

He swallowed, wincing when his throat protested weakly. He had run himself hoarse with his screams and his cries – not for any real relief or hope of rescue, really, he just needed to hear something – and idly wondered what color his next goo of a meal was going to be. At least it was something other than white, and it had a taste, bland, something he wouldn’t have eaten had he been back with his parents in the circus, but it was something.

He lived now for something other than the white.

He closed his eyes, feeling the dryness of his skin pull at his cheekbones and the cake-y texture of his eyelashes stick both upper and lower eyelids together – there would be no more tears to cry, apparently – as he let out a soft sigh of defeat.

“… he…hello?” a soft voice called, high, sweet, like the sun breaking out from between the clouds after a storm.

Dick’s shoulders tensed, his hands instantly pushing his body forwards.

“W..who…”

“Please don’t talk!” the voice whispered again, barely audible through the thick walls of his white universe. “There are cameras monitoring you! They’ll know! Please just tap your fingers against the wall if you can hear me!”

There was urgency in that wonderful song, in that sweet ambrosia that seemed to fill his every being. How long had it been since he had heard another voice?

He slowly tapped his index finger against the wall, frowning when he managed a muted thud at best.

He let his body fall once more, ear surreptitiously pressed against the wall, his heart beating a staccato of anxiety inside his ribcage.

The voice came once more.

“Thank god,” it said, relief evident if watery and weak. “Listen, they are trying to break you with this void, they want you compliant and obedient and I fear they will make it.”

He knew it, he could have guessed it already if the expressionless, dead-eyed guards he had seen the day they had dragged him from his bed were any indication. Was he to become one of them?

A shudder ran through his spine.

No.

He couldn’t let it happen!

“I… I don’t know how yet,” the voice whispered again, filling slowly with urgent conviction. “But I won’t let the void take you. I’ll protect you, Dick. I swear!”

A tear rolled down Dick’s cheek, followed by another and finally a third, his limbs shuddering with an unknown sensation as he listened to the voice whisper his name. How long had it been since he had heard anyone call him Dick?

Had it been his mother, the last one?

And now this voice, this sweet balm in his broken psyche was calling him Dick once more, was promising protection and safety.

He felt something cold and hot and sweet and bitter curl inside his stomach, turn his insides in ways he had never felt before with something he could guess was hope.

And he clung to it.

He clung to it and the warm security it offered, he covered himself with it as if cloaked and turned from the white and its massive oppression.

He could do this.

The voice would protect him.


	2. Year Two - Blue.

**YEAR TWO – BLUE.**

Time passed then, inside the white prison that threatened to swallow him whole. He could tell now, because his limbs were enlarging, his fingers growing limber, longer, and slimmer. His voice was breaking now, he could tell, and that meant he was slowly becoming a man.

He now could make out the voices of others in his circumstances, their cries of agony, of pleading, of despair, the way they banged their hands and their feet against the walls until they could do no more, the way they slowly, ever so slowly, lost themselves to the white, powerful _nothing_ that surrounded them until they grew quiet and meek, until the sight of their food brought cheerful cries of gratitude from their sore throats and animalistic yips of pleasure when the guards came to clean them up.

He never saw it, of course, as he was also hidden in the vast white world of their captivity. But his angel told him so. Explained it to him every time he allowed his soft, _whisper-song-ambrosia_ like voice to drift from one of the air vents and into his cell.

With a wince, Dick realized he would be one of those animals by now, he would be pissing himself in pure happiness like them, if not for his little angel, his protector.

That little voice that holds his sanity in its gentle grasp.

“… a girl killed herself yesterday,” the voice whispered one day as Dick rests back against the wall, eyes closed. “Bit her tongue right off and died.”

“Brave…” Dick whispered, his voice air soft and almost noiseless, lips barely moving.

“I…” the voice hesitated. “I had a nightmare, that you did the same. It was frightening.”

Dick’s brows came down with a frown, his chapped, broken lips pursing painfully as he heard his angel’s voice break.

His chest contracted painfully, so painfully that he had to force both hands to press against his skin in order to sooth the ache and he felt immediately selfish and ashamed.

He had not stopped to consider that his angel, his song bird, would worry about his safety, his own well-being.

To him, one of the recruits dying was a good thing, she was now free of the void, of the white emptiness.

To his angel, she was dead.

He could be dead.

“I won’t,” he whispered then, his eyes tightening. “I won’t leave.”

A soft exhalation of relief filled the air.

“Thank you…” the voice whispered. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can live anymore if you are gone.”

Dick nodded slowly, his chest tightening and expanding once more at the very thought of not hearing that wonderful voice anymore. Of being left alone to the merciless power of the white void without any song of sweet safety to anchor him into reality.

He couldn’t let it happen.

“I’ll live,” he whispered, his conviction strong. “For you.”

A soft giggle fell through the air vent.

“And I’ll live for you then, Dick,” the voice said with its usual sort of broken, bittersweet happiness. “I promise.”

Dick nodded once more, his back arching lightly at the surge of _reliefpleasurewarmth_ that spread through his body. The fluffy heat of security that, as usual, wrapped around him at the sole thought.

“Yes,” he whispered, a small smile curling his lips. “Yes, for me.”

Silence enveloped them then, not the oppressing white silence of old, but a gentle, comfortable kind that Dick had come to associate to his angel’s presence.

“By the way,” the whispered voice continued. “Catch.”

Dick only had time to open his eyes for a second before a small, weightless something fell onto his outstretched hands with a muted noise.

He gasped.

It was a sugar cube.

“I snatched this,” the voice said. “I thought you might want to try something different than the grub.”

Dick nodded, feeling his throat close and his mouth water.

He couldn’t even remember what sugar tasted like anymore.

Hesitantly, feeling as if he was breaking a sacred taboo, he raised his eyes, mindful of the cameras and surveillance that would most likely fill his little cell, just at the same time as he brought both hands to his mouth and allowed the small treat to touch the tip of his tongue.

Sweetness and heat exploded in his mouth in a way that, had he not been sitting already, would have forced him to his knees.

An almost irrepressible need to cry clogged the back of his mouth even as he salivates and swallows.

Not because it’s been so long since something with an actual taste has entered his mouth.

No.

But because his eyes have grown used to the light in the cell by now.

And today.

For the first time.

He can distinguish a pair of pale blue eyes staring back at him from the shadows of the air vent above him.

His vision filled with that beautiful, unique color.

The color of his world from then on.

 


	3. Year Three - Red.

 

It was during the third year of his imprisonment - three years, three whole years of whispered conversations and sugar cubes and the pale, moon colored eyes that watched over him from the ceiling - that Dick was able to leave the void behind.

At least physically, he reminded himself, just as his angel had warned him; the void was now a part of him, a constant threat in the back of his head demanding his obedience or else face oblivion in the vast, frightening whiteness. 

But he had woken up one day and he had left the white prison behind, exchanging it for a small, Spartan room with barely a cot and a small window, that made him recoil and whimper in fright, as he was sure he had finally lost his mind.

It was only the deep, amused chuckle of a man confidently sitting on his bed, arms crossed over his massive chest, blue eyes - not as beautiful or as pale as his angel's, never so pure and sweet - mocking his every clumsy movement.

"Good morning, Richard," the man greeted, his voice throaty and full of mockery. "I have been waiting for you."

Dick felt himself frown in confusion.

"You have?" He asked, hating the hoarse way his voice rasped at his throat. 

The man nodded.

"Indeed," he sneered. "Many broke far before you ever did. I must say I am quite impressed."

Dick swallowed thickly, his hand clenching in an effort to prevent its trembling. 

"No matter," the man said finally, waving a hand dismissively. "You are finally ready to begin your training." 

“Training…?" the teen whispered, feigning innocence. His angel had already shared all the information he could during his visits, how he was to become what they called a 'Talon' and how they would try to suppress his emotions, his very being, until there was nothing left of himself but an obedient killing machine. 

He zoned out therefore, as the man - Owlman, he said, but to you I am Master - explained what would be expected of him from now on and the consequences he would face should he fail to comply.

He would endure everything, he told himself as he steeled his resolve, his body tensing. He needed to survive and continue to live, to honor the memory of his parents.

To live for the little angel that breathed and whispered sweet assurances in his ears at night, that snuck treats and colors and life when he felt he was going to lose himself to the void. 

The man, Owlman, smirked at him, his face turning into something inhumanly cruel, and Dick realized he had been silent for far too long, had been absently staring right ahead in a way that betrayed his inattention.

"I... " he hesitated. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, child," Owlman said, his tone deceptively soft. "I was simply stating that, since you are our own special case, you shall receive a special kind of discipline should you step out of line."

"I understand..." Dick said evenly, doing his best to keep his face as expressionless as possible. 

"I believe you don't, actually, even if you are one of my most promising Talons," the man mocked. "If you fail in your training, if you step out of line, if you even think about rebelling against me, I won't touch a single hair on your head. No one will harm you." 

Dick frowned, unsure.

He had heard the agonizing screams of the so-called discipline from his cell; he had known the other trainees were mercilessly beaten for their failures. 

Why spare him, then?

Owlman's smile widened as he pulled a small telephone-like device from his belt. 

"Instead," he continues, pressing a code on his phone nonchalantly. "Someone else will be facing discipline in your stead."

Dick felt the void roaring in the back of his head, the world lose its bottom and his stomach pummel to his feet as the man finally turned the device to face him, the screen alight with a number he didn't recognize.

But the voice...

"Sir?" The voice of his angel, the voice of his everything, echoing from the speakers. "Is everything ok?"

Owlman’s smile bared his teeth like a predator.

“I wanted to make sure our new Talon was settled in his room, Timothy,” the man said simply, eyes locked with Dick’s.

There was a silence.

“I… I understand, sir,” Dick’s angel’s voice wavered, hesitant, fearful. “Do you need me to-”

 “No,” Owlman interrupted. “I think not seeing you will be a good lesson for Richard here, so the two of you can learn not to think you can go behind my back anymore.”

Another pause.

“Yes, sir,” the soft voice that anchored Dick’s damaged psyche to the world sighd, defeat evident. “As you command.”

Dick wanted to cry.

“That will be all, Timothy,” Owlman then laughed. “You and I will have some words later on, so I expect you to wait for me in my office.”

Without waiting for a reply – and most likely the man was used to be completely obeyed by now – Owlman cut communications, pocketing his small phone once more and then tilting his head towards Dick’s shaking figure, amusement clear in his cold eyes.

“I don’t have to tell you what will happen to your sweet, little Timmy if you step out of line, do I, Richard?” he asked, crossing his arms once more.

The teen bit his lips so hard blood slowly trickled down his chin.

“Of course not,” he hesitated. “Master.”

Dick’s vision slowly started to fill with red, the void gaining momentum behind his eyelids and smothering his whole self until there was nothing to see, nothing to feel.

The only sound around him was his new Master’s roaring, cruel laughter.

And Dick finally learned what it felt like to be pray to true hatred and despair at the same time.


	4. Year Four - Black.

Dick fell face first on the containment cell, caked blood on the corner of his mouth and the bridge of his nose pulling at his skin as he winced in pain. 

His shoulder was dislocated, he knew, but he had no energy at the moment to even move enough to set his arm back into place.

And sure, maybe his leg was broken in three places - and what did it say about him that he had grown used to the biting agony of a fracture in the last year - but Dick couldn't help but think that at the very least, he was the one being beaten and starved, that it was his skin the one marred with scars and burn marks.

His...

Not his angel's.

And of course, he was going to spend the next week in confinement, away from light and food and even water, but it wasn't his white hell, it wasn't the void. 

He could do it.

Plus, Calvin had deserved every single stab he had given him - the blood hardening under his nails sent a shiver of satisfaction running down his spine - because that asshole had the nerve of leering at him.

Leering like a pig and whispering that he knew he was the trainee with the special treatment, the one that usually skipped punishment while the others were burned alive. 

But worst of it all, Calvin had hissed in his ear that he should be grateful for the one ensuring his safety, for the little angel that was paying for his benefits on his back. 

Dick had not understood the implications, had not wanted to see what the other Talon prospect meant, but Calvin had finally sighed, running a hand through his hair and whistling a happy tune for a few second before telling Dick, straight faced an honest:

"Makes you curious, don't you think? I kinda wanna fuck little Timmy myself to see what kind of a ride he is."

Dick hadn't needed to hear another word before his feet were in the air, the hunter knife he had been practicing with had been twisted into the older teen's shoulder and his hands were clawing at the man’s mouth, nails digging into that disgusting, amoral tongue that dared to utter his angel's name without reservations or the respect such a creature as Tim deserved, index fingers digging into Calvin's eye sockets so that he would never be able to look at his angel again.

Calvin didn't deserve to have gazed upon Timmy when Dick had not.

He didn't deserve to know his name when he was still so unreachable for him.

The white of the void swarmed the corners of his eyes as he felt a sliver of drool drip from his snarling mouth, the other Talon's agonized screams muting all sound but his frantic heartbeat.

That heartbeat Tim, his angel, had protected. 

The sickening squelch of an eye finally giving out to the pressure gave a surge of vicious satisfaction to the young teen. 

He cackled maniacally even as he was pushed onto the ground by three instructors, his face banged against the concrete and blood sprouted from his nose but even then, as they descended upon him ready for his punishment did his smile not diminish. 

The hiss of the hydraulic door sliding back and then forth again made his aching muscles tense further, imagining that further punishment was in story for him and that, whatever luck he had imagined himself possessing by now ad finally run out.

But instead a cool, wet cloth was carefully pressed against his bruised cheekbone, soothing is burning skin and stopping the pulling of the dried blood at the same time.

Dick felt his mouth go dry even as he managed to choke a small whimper of disbelief.

“Don’t talk,” his angel whispered in the darkness, the broken edge of his voice unmatched by the gentleness of his touch. “I… I think I am too angry at you now.”

Despair curled and rolled on the pit of Dick’s stomach, but he obediently kept his lips closed.

“Calvin Rose is older and far better trained than you are,” his angel continued to say as he took the cool cloth away from his face and slowly ran it through the scratches and cuts in his arms. “He could have killed you without a second though. You were lucky he is so cocky.”

Dick growled, low on his throat at the thought. Calvin Rose wasn’t even worthy of having his name been uttered by his angel.

“He said bad things…” he finally said, his voice a hiss of anger he wasn’t sure before then he could muster. “About you.”

“It doesn’t matter!” his angel reprimanded, small hand curling over the cloth for a moment, trembling. “Don’t pay attention to what they say about me. It doesn’t bother me and it shouldn’t bother you either.”

“But…” Dick complained.

“My reputation is nothing for you to lose your life over, Dick,” the angel interrupted, his voice so small and defeated Dick felt the void slithering back into his brain by its absence. “You promised you wouldn’t die, remember?”

And there it was, the crux of the matter.

He _had_ promised he would live on, if only to ensure Timothy, his angel, would have a reason to live as well. Tim who, as the rumors stated, was giving something to Owlman in order to keep him safe.

Tim, who already said he would have no reason to keep living if he left.

He nodded, a tired sigh forcing his eyes to close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered then, his uninjured cheek resting on the ground.

“… it’s okay,” Tim whispered back, a hesitant hand finally coming to rest on his hair, his slender fingers carding through his blood caked strands in order to comb them back into order.

Dick felt the air leave his lungs, his heart erupt into a storm.

His stomach burst with heat.

The void fell quiet.

Idly, in between all the emotions ravaging his psyche, Dick realized this was the first time he and Dick had actually come into skin to skin contact with eachother. Despite their relationship, despite the years they had relied on eachother, despite the fact they had never seen eachother’s face.

They were touching…

… and it was beautiful.

And with such realization came a new kind of clarity.

The clarity of one who has come to the realization of their life’s position. Of their purpose in the universe.

He had to train.

He had to survive.

He had to live.

Not because it was the right thing to do.

Not because he had to honor his parent’s memory.

No.

He had to live, from now on.

Because his life did not belong to him anymore.

His life belonged to this wonderful angel, this compassionate being that was giving his all for him.

He was Tim’s.

His twisted fingers rose on their own to grasp Tim’s slender wrist, entwining their hands against on another and breathing in the soapy smell of his skin, aching to keep him close, to keep him safe. Consume him so he would never leave him behind.

His broken leg didn’t matter.

His dislocated shoulder didn’t matter.

Only Tim mattered, would matter forever.

And, oddly enough, he was perfectly okay with it. 


	5. Year Five - Apple Green

Dick felt the skin of his hands break as he slammed the palms against the exposed brick of the walls, a soft tang of pain he hardly ever paid attention to as he was overwhelmed by the want, the fire, the pure need as he buried his nose on the soft neck and he breathed in the smell of green apple soap and lime scented shampoo, the smell of gun powder and engine grease that had become a comfort and solace in his darkest moments.

 

The scent of his angel.

 

Tim's scent.

 

Tim's smaller, thinner hands slowly clung to his back, pulling him impossibly closer to his body, trying to swallow him whole in his warm and Dick felt himself wonder what would happen if he could crawl inside Tim's skin and burrow into his self forever.

 

Ahh...

 

How wonderful would that be, Tim's breathy,  whispery voice let out a soft moan of completion at the same time as his powerful legs - same legs Dick tended to nap on whenever they were allowed a moment of solitude, which was rare - wrapped around his waist and suddenly their hips connected to one another.

 

It was glorious.

 

"Dick!" Tim gasped, his nails digging into the scars on Dick's back and shoulders, cutting thin lines of an angry red that sent shivers down his spine.

 

Deepening into his skin.

 

Marking him as Tim's.

 

"Tim," he hissed back, feverish, mad. "That's it, Tim! I'm yours! My life is yours! All yours, my angel!"

 

"Yes!" Tim whimpered, his lips caressing the shell of Dick's ear.  "You are mine, Dick, only mine!"

 

Dick growled, breathing into Tim's skin, enjoying his moans. "You will never leave me!"

 

"Never!" Tim replied, back arching in pleasure when Dick thrust back and forth against him. "I'm yours!"

 

With a snap on his teeth against the joint of Tim's beck and shoulder, Dick felt his whole body shudder, the molten heat pooling at the pit of his stomach bursting into and explosion that forced his eyes to squeeze shut and a roar of pure pleasure to escape his lips.

 

He opened his eyes.

 

And promptly let himself close them again as he was not greeted by the sight of Tim's bright blue eyes but the peeling visage of the ceiling in his cell.

 

He groaned out loud, hands clenching and unclenching as his sleep-fogged mind finally registered the cooling, wet mess inside his pants and the creeping, mocking void in the back of his head.

 

It had all been a dream.

 

Of course it had been a dream.

 

It had all been a dream as all the other dreams he had experienced in the last year, a cruel mockery of his feelings for a man he owed everything to.

 

And wasn't twisted of him?

 

He had never even seen Tim even.

 

To him, Tim was a figure hidden on the shadows with tender, small hands and a soft lap he could rest his head on, with bright blue eyes that seemed darker and darker whenever he could see them...

 

... And that was it, really.

 

According to the whispers that littered the halls at night, Owlman's Timothy was basically a myth, a ghost of a person The Master kept jealously hidden from everything and everyone - save for the higher ups- , a creature one could only gaze upon before meeting their bitter end at Owlman's hands.

 

His own personal pet hostage.

 

Dick should count himself lucky he even knew the color of Tim's eyes, that he could smell the scent in his skin and feel his careful hands in the dark of night.

 

That he had these thoughts, these horrid, terrible, pleasurable thoughts about his angel made him feel wretched, torn.

 

He couldn't stop himself.

 

The digital clock on his walk told him he had another hour before training, so, with the sinking void in the back of his head creeping further and further to the front with its vast, unforgiving whiteness, he decided he might as well indulge in his sinful, disgusting absolution.

 

His left hand slid inside his pants, fingers trembling, sweaty.

 

He idly wondered how tall Tim actually was - given the size of his hands, not much - and the color and lengthy of his hair. He tried to picture another teenager with plump lips and high cheekbones, but the image refused to form in his mind, refused to keep away the void, the silence, the nothing The Master had cursed him with.

 

He groaned, wrapping his hand around his still erect cock and tugging experimentally once, twice.

 

"Tim," he whispered, seeking solace in his angel's name. "I love you, Tim. I love you."

 

The back of his eyelids turned violent red and purple as his head swam, blood like molten lava running through his veins.

 

"My Tim, you are my Tim," he dared to whisper just as his knees twitched, his hand quickening its ardent pace back and forth. "Mine!"

 

"Quite an interesting statement, Richard," a deep voice called from the scattered shadows of his room, making the teen jump high in the air and instantly fall to the balls of his feet on the floor, blade at the ready, a snarl on his lips.

 

His eyes, then, widened as he realized who was just stealthy enough, invested enough, to sneak up into his room.

 

"Master..." he whispered, feeling how his muscled tensed so hard they started trembling, his skin grew clammy, and the void roared behind his ears. "Master, I..."

 

Owlman smirked at him cruelly. 

 

"I think it's amusing you feel Timothy,  _my Timothy,_ could ever be yours, Richard," the man hissed, his steps echoing deafeningly as he walked towards Dick, hand stretched until he could wrap his fingers around the boy's neck, squeezing painfully as he lifted him from the ground.

 

"I..." the teen gasped.  "I just..."

 

"You nothing, boy," Owlman sneered. "You own nothing, much less Timothy's life. And you know why?"

 

Dick struggles, his hands clawing at Owlman's in a futile effort to breath, his toes barely touching the ground as he tried to get a hold of himself, to stare at his master and pay attention to his words, knowing the slightest inattention could cost him his life.

 

"Mas... ter..." Dick whimpered, his vision swimming.

 

"That's right, Richard," the man laughed maniacally. "I am your Master, you belong to  _me!_  Just like he is mine and will always will be." 

 

"I'm sorry, Master," the teen whispered, his fingers growing slack and accepting of his fate even as his whole mind and soul rebelled against the very idea. He was not The Master's, he would never be The Master's.  

 

He was Tim's, his life was Tim's, his very soul and body were his and he would always be his.

 

Nothing Owlman said and did would change that.

 

"Sir?" a soft voice called from the doorway, trembling, breath-like, frightened.

 

Owlman's grip on Dick's neck was released instantly and the teen found himself face first on the floor, his lungs painfully demanding air as he coughed and gasped, his limbs shivering by with stress.

 

Owlman's superior smirk turned into the ugliest leer Dick had ever seen.

 

"It seems like your pet is growing far too comfortable in his leash, Timothy," he said, slowly walking towards the door, cracking his knuckles as he did so. "I am afraid some discipline is in order, my child."

 

Dick raised his face, his eyes wide, his clammy skin losing color and his stomach pummeling to his feet as he felt the void, the horrible, white void, started expanding and roaring and swallowing the world.

 

For he now knew two facts that seemed to destroy his confidence, his very few certainties in the universe.

 

One, it didn't really matter if he was not The Master's.  Tim was. And Owlman would forever hold them both in his grasp.

 

And two... His angel, the one who held his sanity, his very life. The creature he had been lusting after...

 

... Was a ten year old child.

 

He closed his eyes with a whimper of agony just as Owlman wrapped his powerful hand around Tim's small arm - a child's arm, a little boy's arm - ready to drag him away. 

 

The void took him.

 

 


	6. Interlude - Owlman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writen for the Kink War currently going on in Tumblr. So expect this to finally start turning... well... you know, Dick did hit puberty, right? I'm so sorry not sorry

He stared at the little boy with the small shoulders and the icy blue eyes as he had done for the last few years. Timothy was slowly growing into a thing of loveliness that made something dark and cold twist inside of his stomach. He had no wonder why the Court believed the rumors that he shares the child's bed.

They were true, to an extent.

And Thomas Wayne Jr. was no liar.

Timothy knelt in front of Richard with hesitation born out of their now more apparent difference in heights and how he did know - quite rightly so -  that the smaller he looked, the younger and smaller, the more his little Talon protégé grew agitated and sad.

 Richard was angry and hurt and all those wonderful things only teenagers were capable of, and how could he not be, when Timothy was all meekness and silence, ice cold nervousness but and condemnation.

Even when he reached with his tiny child hands for a wet rag to wipe the other boy's sperm from his spread thighs.

"D-don't," Richard said with a hiss, his skin clammy as he tried to get away from Timothy's wandering hands. "Don't touch me."

Thomas noticed how Timothy's pouty pink lips pursed for a moment and he found himself leaning over his seat with rapt attention.

"T-... D-...don't!"

"Silence," the boy hissed, his icy eyes piercing the older boy's as he slapped the back of his hands away as he continued with his task. "I'm so angry. I can't believe you'd engage the master head on! What were you thinking!"

Richard watched on in silence, his eyes wide, his lips trembling.

"You can't keep doing this. You can't keep rebelling!" Timothy continues with a kittenish huff of indignation. "I will not allow it!"

Richard's eyes widened wetly at the same time as Thomas raised an eyebrow, impressed.

Timmy was  _pissed._

“You'll stop engaging the Master, Dick! You won't even  _look_  at the Master!" the child continued, his doll-like hands clenching and unclenching impotently, visibly unaware of the fact he was digging his short, blunt nails in his friends overly sensitized skin as he did so.

Richard, however, was aware of it. 

Definitely aware if the way his young body seemed to sway and twist in place, his skin a lovely pink of shame and desire that seemed to seep into his eyes and force his breath out of bruised lips. 

What a thing of loveliness the two were. 

How much Thomas loved them.

Thomas raised an eyebrow in amusement, silently wondering how long would Richard last with the object of his desire, of all his unholy fantasies, kneeling before his with such a lovely expression, with those small hands pressed against his naked skin.

Not too long, it seemed, as the teen finally let out a slow, building moan and his back arched in an impossible, shuddering angle.

Timothy's eyes widened.

Richard's closed tightly in shame.

"Dick?" The boy asked, unsure. "Are you... Hurt?"

Dick simply shook his head, tears of pure unadulterated shame rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "I'm so sorry."

"Wha...." Tim hesitated, his frigid blue eyes full of naive confusion. "What are you sorry for? What happened?"

But poor, broken Richard was far too gone to hear any hint of childish comfort from his friend. He just kept shaking like a leaf in a storm, his skin beaded with sweat.

Even when his young friend, his child friend, his ten year-old Timothy…

… noticed his rising erection.

“Oh,” Tim whispered, as if the shock had stolen his voice away. “I…”

“I’m sorry, Tim, I’m so sorry,” Dick kept repeating, over and over. “I’m sick, I’m so sick, please don’t hate me! Please don’t hate me, Tim.”

Tim took a deep breath, doing his best to remain calm as his best friend fell apart before his pale blue eyes. His teeth sunk onto his dry bottom lip, his own hands became clammy and wet, still resting onto Dick’s trembling thighs.

He swallowed.

“Was…” he hesitated. “Was this why the Master punished you?”

Dick stilled for a second, unable to open his eyes.

He nodded.

“Tim, I didn’t – I… ” Dick tried to articulate without much success, curling his legs up as if that would somehow hide his erection. He was hard, and Tim stared at the wet tent his cock made on his clothing, making it obvious. Making it impossible for Dick to pretend nothing had happened a hours ago.

“I can’t say I am not confused,” Tim said, shaking his head from side to side slowly in a futile effort to clear his mind. “I am, however, quite relieved.”

Dick’s eyes flew open, locking with Tim’s clear gaze once more and finding only truth in them.

“You… are?” he whimpered, his trembling subsiding lightly, yet not stopping.

Tim nodded.

“I was worried that… you had slipped, like the other recruits… that you were going dark and I would not be able to save you,” he explained, his tongue shyly peeking to lip his lips.

Dick swallowed hard, his own head shaking.

“Save me…?”

“This is something you need, right?” Tim sighed, his thumbs caressing the wet skin under his hands. “I’m too young to feel the need myself, but I know that you are older and this is something important, something that keeps you human.”

Dick’s trembling finally stopped.

His bruised, and bitten mouth, scarred and bleeding, curled into a smile.

“Yes,” he said in a breath. “Yes, it is…”

If Tim, his Tim, his little angel and savior believed it was normal for Dick to feel such desires, to want that which he could never dare to soil, then it had to be okay. Tim always knew better, Tim was his reason.

“Then we should hurry before they catch us,” Tim said with a shy smile of his own.  “Touch yourself, I’ll help.”

Dick’s feverish eyes widened, his muscles tensed once more.

“What?”

“It’s okay,” the child told him. “It’s important to fulfill your needs.”

Dick didn’t look away from Tim’s small smile, but his hand reached inside his pants again automatically, his wrist moving as he began stroking himself.

“Yes, that’s it, Dick,” Tim’s smile widened, even as his cheeks grew pink and his own eyes became a little brighter. “See? You can’t even help yourself.”

Dick’s whole body curled in, his head dipping, his shoulders hunching, his thighs pressing in. Mortified. A moan forced its way past his mouth.

“There you go, there it is,” Tim whispered. “Let yourself go, Dick, I’ll be here to catch you.”

The teen’s back arched, his voice coming out in hoarse, breathy moans that grew in intensity the more Tim’s smile widened, gaining momentum with the child’s soft encouragement.  Dick’s half-lided gaze came up again, and his pupils were wide, black swallowing the sky blue. He was biting his lip again, working himself, and moaning. The sound alone, and the slick noises of his hand against his cock…

Tim slid one small hand down to his tender inner thighs. He didn’t reach for his balls, just spread his thighs further and stroked at that pale skin, childishly fascinated by the response his fingers created.

Dick found himself overwhelmed enough to fall on his back on the bed, every muscle taut and defined in the tension of the moment just before orgasm. The drops of perspiration glistening on his top lip, his jaw clenched and the tendons in his neck standing out as he teetered on the edge.

Tim’s hand, his beautiful hand, moving over his erection; his heavy balls, his thick and flushed shaft, the head swollen and shining with pre-come.

The child locked their gazes back together, both glinting like jewels.

His pale, pink lips parted, his tongue now licking the top lip slowly, as if savoring Dick’s moans in the air itself.

“Come now, Dick,” he whispered. “Come for me now.”

And, as the obedient slave to his angel he was, Dick obeyed.

His toes curled against the sheets, his head snapped back into an unnatural angle, his vision swam with each and every color of the rainbow as he finally found the release that he had been looking for, aching for.

He came.

The room fell into silence once more.

Tim’s wet hand slipped easily from Dick’s underwear, his eyes studying the appendage with scientific curiosity.

Dick watched him with tired eyes, feeling his chest burst with warmth and love and everything that his angel ever meant to him.

“The Master wants to kill all that is human from you, Dick,” Tim whispered, his eyes narrowing. “He wants you to need for nothing, want for nothing… and I won’t let him.”

“Tim…” the teen whispered, his throat impossibly dry.

“Every need of yours, every single desire…” the child continued. “I will give you, Dick, whatever the cost I will keep you alive and well. I swear.”

And Dick might have protested once, a long time ago, to such ardent declaration. Knowing his angel would run into untold danger if he allowed it.

But as Tim’s small, pink tongue peeked once more to experimentally taste Dick’s cum, still clinging to his pale fingers, he realizes he couldn’t.

There was no denying his angel.

His God.

He felt himself smile.

 


	7. Year Seven - Test

“T-Tim,” Dick gasped, arching his back as he came all over Tim’s left leg and foot, his sweaty forehead resting on the younger boy’s forehead, breathing in his sweet smell of green apples and linen and Tim.

 

Tim’s fingers were carding through his hair, his skin cooling the fires inside of Dick’s guts.

 

The void was calm for once, lulled into submission by the sound of Tim’s gentle breathing against his ear.

 

“Are you… feeling better, Dick?” Tim asked after a few minutes, his fingers never stopping their gentle caresses against his scarred skin.   
  
Dick nodded silently, closing his eyes, trying to commit this moment to memory like all the precious moments he and Tim were allowed together. Master was a cruel man and had already known Tim was too precious for him, he kept the innocent child in a short leash, always by his side, always within eyesight.

 

Dick hated him, hated how powerless he was to stop it.

 

By his calculations Tim was 12 now – he could only guess, time was a different matter inside the compound – and hadn’t seen the sun since he got there with him.

 

It wasn’t healthy, children needed the sun, his mother always said that when Dick was young, he knew that. And Tim’s skin was always so pale, like the purest snow he was, fragile and white and small.

 

His tired eyes lowered to Tim’s exposed legs, stained now with his semen and he felt revulsion and satisfaction in equal measures. He had stained Tim’s skin, dirtied him in ways no child should ever be dirtied, but it was him, marking Tim. Only him.

 

Only his.

 

With a sigh he lowered himself to his knees on the floor, gently grasping Tim’s leg in his hand and examining the damage he had already caused. Tim looked at him with half-lidded eyes, pink slowly coloring his cheeks and a small smile curling his lips.

 

He grabbed the towel that had been assigned to him. It smelled like him and the thought of having it against Tim’s skin always sent a thrill down his spine, to think that at least a part of his little angel would smell like him, not like Master, but him…

 

He licked his lips.

 

Or maybe…

 

He shook his head, no, that would be too much, Tim was still so young, so small and so innocent, the only pure thing left in that horrible place. He was already dirtying Tim with his sick passion, the irrepressible need he felt for him, to think that he could soil Tim beyond that, that he could dare to imagine such a sin…

 

Tim blinked moon colored eyes at him once, twice, confusion clear on his young face.

 

“Dick?” he asked with a whisper.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dick replied instantly, hiding his face on the mattress before him, trembling. “I’m sick, so dirty, so dirty Tim, I don’t… I don’t deserve-”

 

Tim’s hand on his hair stalled his frantic apologies, forcing his face up to lock their gazes to eachother.

 

Tim bit his lips, making them plumper, pinker.

 

“What is it, Dick,” he asked, worried. “You know you can tell me, I would never… judge you.”

 

“But...” Dick wanted to protest, Tim would hate him, how could he _live_ if Tim hated him?

 

He still couldn’t stop himself from looking down at Tim’s dirty leg and licking his lips.

 

He couldn't stop himself from wondering, from salivating at the very thought.

 

How he hated himself.

 

Understanding seemed to dawn on Tim’s eyes at the same time his cheeks colored further in such painful innocence.

 

“Oh...” he said, breathless. “Is… is that something you… need?”

 

Dick felt his eyes tearing up, a knot forming at the back of his throat. He didn’t need it, he could easily keep cleaning Tim up as he had done for months now, as Tim was used to, but he _wanted it_. So very badly he felt he might implode, now that the idea was inside his head.

 

“I’m so sorry...” he sobbed, his body now tall and lanky trembling against the floor, shame filling his every move.

 

Tim’s hand caressed his cheek gently, tenderly.

 

“Oh Dick,” he said, soft. “You know I trust you, you would never hurt me.”

 

“But...” Dick tried to protest, because he knew, _he knew_ you didn’t need to hurt Tim to dirty him, to corrupt him.

 

Tim placed a calloused finger against his dry lips.

 

“Shhh,” he soothed, once more his loving smile curling his lips. “Go ahead, I trust you.”

 

Dick hesitated for a moment, still unsure. He was so dirty, so unfit to be in Tim’s glowing, pure presence, but Tim was there nonetheless, guiding him, protecting him.

 

He gave him his blessing.

 

His tongue gave Tim’s calf a shy, almost tentative lick, his nose wrinkling as he tasted himself for the first time.

 

Tim let out a small, silent gasp.

  
Dick tensed immediately.

 

“I’m sorry,” Tim said shyly. “It feels… weird.”

 

“Weird?” Dick asked, worried. “Did I...”

 

“No, you didn’t hurt me!” Tim hurried to reassure. “It’s just… it tickles but it doesn’t… it’s weird.. but good.”

 

Dick didn’t need to be told twice, he was making his angel feel good, he needed to make his angel feel so good after all Tim has given him.

 

He licked at the soft skin of Tim’s foot, making sure to thoroughly clean each and every toe, laving them, enjoying the taste of Tim and himself, a perfect mixture of their union. Tim’s skin grew hot under his touch, his smooth leg even softer and smoother when he allowed himself go lay a kiss on a trembling knee and nose his way towards the thigh.

 

Tim whimpered gently, but his hand was steady on the back of Dick’s head, caressing his hair, guiding him, giving him all the permission he needed.

 

He laid a second kiss on the thigh, then a third and a fourth, Tim’s skin is saltier than he imagined, but so delicious, so perfect.

 

Just like Tim himself.

 

The taste was heaven and home and all things perfection, it clouded his mind and forced what Dick imagines it’s the rapture he once heard of back at the circus, there was nothing else in his mind but Tim, his breathing, his soft whispers of “Yes, it’s ok, I’m here,” and his fingers in his hair.

 

He came a second time, without being touched, his long fingered hand carefully wrapping around Tim’s developing waist, almost enveloping it completely.

 

His eyes were clouded, his breathing ragged, his tongue tirelessly worshiping the angel under him.

 

Tim was not hard, Dick could see, but he knew this would happen, Tim was so young still, so pure, of course he didn’t understand what is being done to him, but he loved Dick enough to allow it, the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, in the years to come, Tim might, he _might_ want to share his passions with Dick, might allow them to become one in the most primal of ways, spurred his passion into a third orgasm.

 

His underwear was soaking wet by the time Tim’s hand tugged gently at his hair, forcing him upwards so they could stare at eachother’s eyes.

 

Tim’s eyes were bright, so tender and loving, so happy, his lips were parted and small puffs of his breath were hitting Dick’s lower lip, making a new hunger grow inside of him.

 

“Better?” Tim asked, fingers gentle against Dick’s cheekbone.

 

Dick nodded, unable to form words, he was so happy.

 

Tim closed his eyes for a second before reaching up and letting the tip of his tongue – pink, so very beautiful and pink – give a kittenish lick to the tip of Dick’s nose.

 

“I’m glad...” he said, smiling bright like a star. “I need to go now, Master requested my presence.”

 

Dick nodded, his eyes focused on Tim’s pink lips on his little tongue. He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to chase that tongue around with his own, to breath Tim’s breath into his lung and lose himself in him.

 

But Tim was a child, he would only corrupt him further and he was given such a wonderful treasure just today.

 

Greedy, dirty Dick.

 

Maybe one day, when Tim was older, when he was ready, when he allowed it.

 

Until then Dick would only take what Tim allowed, what Tim wanted.

 

“Please wash yourself before the others find out,” Tim requested, adjusting his clothes, all traces of their encounter gone save from the glimmer of saliva on his thigh.

 

Dick shuddered, nodding.

 

“I’ll see you tonight?” he managed to ask, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper.

 

Tim shook his head.

 

“I don’t think so,” he said, regret and doubt clear on his every move. “Master wants to test my training against another recruit I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll...”

 

He stopped, swallowing thickly before forcing a small smile back on his face.

 

“I’ll be okay,” he assured. “I’ll try to come by soon.”

 

Tim didn’t say goodbye when he left, he never did. He had once told Dick that he believed that saying goodbye was accepting they wouldn’t see eachother again, and that was unacceptable to him. Nothing would keep them apart, Tim said, with a certainty that usually filled Dick with warmth.

 

This time, however, there was no warmth as Tim left their little room, no certainty and no reassurances of a future together.

 

Tim was going to be tested.

 

He was going to fight.

 

Dick had gone through a similar test when he was Tim’s age and had barely survived and even then he had been confined to medical for weeks.

 

And he had been trained to be a warrior, he had the muscles to prove it.

 

Tim was still too young, to small, to slender.

 

He wasn’t built to be a warrior, he wasn’t built like him and the others.

 

Master was sending Tim to die.

 

He fixed his clothing as best as he could, not caring about the mess he was, and started to pile his small cot with his chair, his dresser, needed to get to the air vents Tim had once used to visit him, when they believed the Master had not known.

 

He knew he couldn’t make a single noise and risk being discovered, but he could also not lose a second if only to make sure Tim was okay, that he wouldn’t die.

 

Dick would not allow it.

 

He crawled on shaking hands and knees, afraid to even breath lest he alert someone of his presence.

 

He arrived at the gym area five minutes later, hating himself as he saw that Tim’s test had already begun. He was standing in the middle of the mat, facing a slightly older girl who was looking at him with the eyes of a frightened animal.

 

Dick was familiar with those eyes, most of the children had them when they came, they slowly lost that emotion.

 

All emotion.

 

Master was standing to their right, his smile cruel, vicious.

 

A younger boy was tied by his side, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Tiny little boy, as tiny as Tim himself was.

 

“Are you do not want any more weapons, Timothy?” Owlman asked, amused, and Dick felt horror pool in the pit of his stomach when he realized the girl had two hunter knives, one in each hand, while Tim only had a wooden pole.

 

Tim nodded, his eyes reflecting pity on the girl as she trembled before him.

 

“No Master, this is enough,” he replied, his voice small.

 

Owlman nodded.

 

“Very well, then,” he said, an eyebrow raised. “You two have five minutes. Begin.”

 

Dick’s mind reeled.

 

Five minutes?

 

Just five?

 

All other recruits had ten to twenty.

 

Tim wouldn’t be able to survive if there was only five minutes.

 

His muscles tensed when the little girl burst into action, slashing at Tim’s chest with animalistic precision.

 

Tim simply jumped backwards, using his pole to support his weight and gain as much distance from the girl as possible. It was obvious to Dick that his strategy was to survive the time given. He would do his best not to hurt and not to be hurt.

 

So pure, his angel.

 

The girl used her longer legs to approach Tim once more, reaching to stab him in the shoulder. Tim instantly used his bony elbow to block her hand, but she took advantage of his open position to twist his arm in an unnatural angle and drop him to the floor with her on top.

 

Tim’s eyes widened for a second before his shorter legs were pushing at her stomach, forcing her to land on her back. The boy hurried to his feet, his attention divided between Owlman and the girl, which is why he missed her kick to the face that sent him once more to the floor.

 

Or so it seemed, as she got up with a jump and rushed to cut him, Tim moved away just in time as the knife indented itself on the mat and the boy used its momentum and reached with his own foot, the same foot Dick had lovingly cleaned not an hour ago and used all his strength to kick the knife off her hand.

 

He was saying something to the girl, Dick could see, but his lips barely moved, preventing Dick from reading them, his moon blue eyes straying to the boy Owlman obviously held captive.

 

The girl didn’t listen to him, using her slightly larger frame to barren into Tim, digging her elbow onto his cheek. Dick could see the same disadvantage the Master had likely seen in Tim’s choice of weapon. Yes, Tim was lighter and therefore faster than the girl, but she could use both hands with the knives strapped to her wrists while Tim could only use one with his wooden pole.

 

But Tim had most likely chosen the weapon because it was non lethal.

 

The girl kept raining punches and slashes on Tim, and he kept avoiding them, using his weapon to stop the blade time and time again, it was obvious that the girl was getting frustrated, more so when Tim would lean in to whisper in her ear.

 

“NO!” the girl finally shrieked, eyes wild. “You… you don’t know shit!”

 

Dick’s nails dig into the palms of his hands until he draws blood, unable to look as the girl cuts into his angel’s beautiful, pure skin. He wants to look away, he can’t look away.

 

He feels like dying himself.

 

Tim’s eyes widened lightly, his expressionless facade breaking to one of utter sadness.

 

“I’m sorry then,” he whispered, swallowing once and performing a somersault using his pole as support, spinning in the air to gain momentum and then dropping to the mat with the ruthless accuracy of a machine.

 

The girl made the mistake of following his every movement, concentrating on his hands, and not noticing that, since the pole was long, the inertia of such movement would bring more speed and strength to the tip.

 

The same tip Tim was using in her distraction to crush her kneecap.

 

The girl cried in agony, falling to her knees.

 

Tim got up, his face bruised, his lip split.

 

His eyes sad.

 

“It’s over,” he whispered, bowing to her respectfully and then to the Master before turning his back on them both and walking towards his shoes.

 

Owlman’s smile widened, laying one of his thick hands on the captive boy’s hair, ruffling it silently.

 

The frightened little boy – a boy Tim’s age, a boy Tim’s size – couldn’t stand his silence anymore and cried out a pitiful: “Harper!”

 

The girl turned to him, frantic.

 

Owlman raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes dispassionate as his hand tightened around the boy’s neck.

 

The warning was clear.

 

The girl, Harper, turned to Tim, her eyes bloodshot, her struggles pathetic as she managed to get back on her feet for a second, using her own body, her own superior strength to launch herself, knife at the ready, at Tim.

 

At Tim’s back.

 

Tim didn’t have enough time to turn, surprised.

 

Dick couldn’t stop himself, didn’t want to stop himself.

 

With a cry of pure rage he launched himself from the ceiling and into the mats, landing on the girl, his larger frame crushing her already broken leg, his mouth curled into a snarl as he roared, holding her by the hair.

 

“You bitch,” he hissed. “You don’t deserve his mercy.”

 

The girl cried in agony as Dick bashed her head against the floor once, twice, three times.

 

“Harper!” the boy cried by Owlman’s side, struggling to reach them.

 

“Dick!” Tim cried, shocked, but this time, Dick wouldn’t stop.

 

That bitch had tried to hurt Tim, she had tried to kill Tim even when his angel had offered mercy to her. She had dared.

 

She dared!

 

Her voice grew fainter and fainter the more he bashed her head against the mat, until the only sound coming from her was the squelch of her brains against his fist, her blood coating his hands.

 

Arms reached for him, forcing him off of her corpse, the red of the void finally lifted from his vision and he realized he was being overpowered by six other recruits, all screaming at him, dragging his arms behind his back.

 

“Dick...” Tim whispered, shocked, afraid.

 

Owlman grabbed the back of Tim’s neck, his eyes dispassionate.

 

“I warned you, Richard,” he said evenly. “I warned you.”

 

Dick felt his body grow cold, his limbs lose their strength.

 

“M-master…”

 

Owlman shook his head, his hold on Tim tightening.

 

“Take Richard back to the white room for a week,” he ordered the other Talons, Dick couldn’t move, couldn’t force his own body to obey, he was dragged away against the cacophony of the little boy’s screams of agony and the frightened gleam of Tim’s eyes that never left his own.

 

Cullen fell to his knees before his sister’s mangled corpse, unable to stop crying, why had that man done that to her? How could the Master allow that to happen? He had told them she was one of his most promising students, one of the bests. She had sworn her allegiance to him in exchange for Cullen’s own protection.

 

They had been good, they had been so good.

 

The other Talons dragged the murderer away and only his sobs remained at the gym.

 

That is until a voice as soft as the breeze reached his ears.

 

“Hm, took longer than I anticipated.”

 

Cullen turned, shocked, the boy was there, the one who had fought with Harper, the one who had refused to hurt her, his eyes that had before been a mask of complete fright were now cold, as dispassionate as the Master’s own.

 

“Your calculations were off, Timothy mine?” The Master asked, a smile on his lips. Not the usual cold, killer smile, or the shark smile he used to intimidate the younger recruits. This smile was soft, fond, full of pride.

 

The other boy, Timothy, returned the smile, his eyes glinting.

 

“Nothing that worrying,” he replied, snuggling into the Master’s side, seeking his warmth. “You’ll see I can control him better than any of your other methods could. You’ll be proud of me, Daddy.”

 

The Master nodded, his hand, the same hand he had used to keep Cullen in place, caressed the boy’s hair, his cheeks.

 

“I don’t doubt that, my beautiful baby boy.”

 

Cullen felt a chill run down his spine, realizing that this was never a test of Harper’s loyalty, or her skill.

 

This was all a test of her killer.

 

And somehow he had passed.

 


End file.
